


Tin Cans {phan}

by AlyssaAlyx



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlyssaAlyx/pseuds/AlyssaAlyx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan Howell was going through some old boxes when he happens across his childhood crushes phone number. Hoping for the best and expecting the worst, he calls it. Although its not the girl he wanted to pick up, Dan wasn't disappointed to here a voice equivalent to the chocolate fountain at his friends wedding last year. Phil uses Dan's mistake to help him make all the mundane life decisions he's bad at making, and together, life becomes a little less boring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tin Cans {phan}

         If Dan didn’t die from his racing, unfit heart, then the inch thick layer of dust sporing into the air and into his lungs would be sure to do him in. If he ignored those little facts, the scene before him would be picturesque. Warm sunlight filtered through the attic slats, making the choking dust look like fairies greeting him; brown boxes were stacked around like friendly gnomes waiting for him to discover their hidden memories. The problem was, he couldn’t ignore those facts. Dan took one more deep, grainy breath and lifted the last bin. He threw it, rather ungracefully, down the rectangle in the floor and jumped down after it. His mother found him a few minutes later still sprawled across the box, clutching his chest and heaving loudly. She wasn’t quite sure if he was being overdramatic or not. 

 

         “You act as if we just made you run a marathon” She said, handing him a bottle of water and clicking her tongue. Dan sucked in another breath. 

“I am not,” Two more pants. “Just training for one.” 

 

         The older woman rolled her eyes, beginning on some lecture on how  _ you really shouldn’t have procrastinated and gotten your brother to help you before he left  _ blah blah blah. He had been moved out for four years and just now getting the last of his boxes from his parent’s house. A talk on procrastination is a bit too late. 

 

         After the usual routine of his mom packing a load of food into tupperware to  _ make sure you’re eating enough because you’re looking a bit skinny  _ and  _ try to get out out more, maybe get a girlfriend or a cat or something,  _ and altogether just being doting in her odd, sarcastic way, Dan had loaded the last of his childhood into his car and was on the road. It was a boring ride full of crappy radio music that he sang way too loudly and greasy chips from the gas station halfway through. Finally though, he was back in his small flat on the outskirts of London with three dusty boxes circling him. 

 

         Turns out there a reason he didn’t need anything in these boxes for years. It was interesting to see the things he had forgotten about yeah, but he probably would never wear a tattered llama hat again (he threw it on his couch anyways, you know, to be ironic). He added a couple of CDs and comic books to the same pile, and he may or may not be watching the DVD set he had of Sailor Moon he found. The rest was old books he now realized were cringy, badly written love stories, and old relics from the times he tried to be emo. Not much else was catching his eye until he almost threw out a paper bound book and realized his scribbled handwriting on the front, marking himself to be ‘Daniel Howell, age 14 and the most coolest guy ever.’ He smirked as flipped through his old school yearbook. He busted out laughing at his awful haircut and some of the candid photos of him and his classmates goofing off in an almost obscene way. He reached the last page, full of brightly coloured signatures, and ten numbers along with a message scrawled in pink ink caught his eye. 

 

_ “It’s too bad I’m moving next year, but maybe I’ll get better marks in math _

_ without you distracting me ;)  _

_ Call me maybe? _

_ ~Nora _

_ (161)-0555-5654” _

 

         Talk about a blast from the past. Suddenly Dan was back in his algebra class, flicking pencil shavings at the giggling girl next to him, her sandy blond hair falling in her face as she tried to avoid the assault. She smelled of almonds and sickenly sweet bubblegum. She was the first girl Dan every thought he was in love with. Much like the rest of his life though, he procrastinated ever actually saying anything of importance, so he was left being the class clown to impress her. He almost failed that year, but he succeeded in memorizing the freckles on her cheeks and the flecks in her eyes. He hadn’t even really thought about her since she moved. _ She wouldn’t possible have the same number for ten years would she? It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?  _

 

         Dan threw out the idea. Everyone changes their number at least once. With his luck, he’d wind up with some old lady who wanted to know if he’d pet her cats all day. Or worse, some old man wondering if he could pet Dan all day. So definitely not. 

 

         After a shower, the number was still all he could think of.  _ Even if it was her, it’s night time, she’d get mad.  _

 

_          Mom did say try to socialize more. _

 

_          You haven’t even thought about her in ten years.  _

 

_          You really should try to make more friends though. _

 

_          She’d think you were a creep. _

 

_          You can just hang up if it's not her.  _

 

_          It wouldn’t hurt to try, would it?  _

 

         Dan snuggled himself in bed with his bed and tapped out the numbers on his phone. He chewed his lip, mulling it over. Finally, he hit the green circle and brought the phone to his ear.

 

         One ring. 

         Two. 

         Three. 

         Four. 

 

         ‘Hello?” Damn it. 

         “Um, hi.” Dan stammered out. The voice on the other end wasn’t almonds and bubblegum. 

         “Hi.” The other male replied quietly. A few moments later, “May I ask who this is?” . 

         No, this voice wasn’t almonds and bubblegum. It was melted dark chocolate. 

         “I’m Dan and I think I have the wrong number.” The subtle laughs from the speaker was caramel. 

         “Well, I’m Phil. Nice to meet you.” Silence. Dan knew he should say a quick bye and hang up, but that voice was so rich and sweet and warm. _ Just because he has a nice voice doesn’t mean he’s a nice person, Dan.  _  He didn’t hang up, but he couldn’t find anything to say either. “If you’re not going to say anything, can you atleast help me contemplate a very important life decision?” Phil asked, snapping Dan out of whatever candy-coated reverie he was in. 

         “Uhh, okay. Can’t guarantee I’ll be of much help.” 

         “Sure you will be, I mean, it must've been fate that you would call at such a crucial time in my life.” Dan actually thought about hanging up, after all, anyone who throws around words like  _ fate  _ probably wasn’t the type he’d hang around. 

         “What do you need help with?” He found himself asking instead. If it was possible to hear a smile, he did on Phil’s face. 

         “Good. Lucky Charms or Cinnamon Toast Crunch?”

         “Did I accidentally call a five year old?” Dan, almost falling out of bed laughing. 

         “It’s a serious question!” The other boy shouted, determination cashew-coated. “Honestly. The store closes in five minutes and I have nothing at my flat” Dan put on his best serious face, even though chocolate-boy couldn’t see him, and pretended to think it over. 

         “Lucky Charms.”

         “You sure?”

         “Yes.” Another audible smile. 

         “Excellent choice Dan, I admire your decisiveness.I think I’ll go with the Cinnamon Toast Crunch though. Thanks!”  _ Click. _

 

         Dan stared at his phone for a minute or two, confused both by how hurt he was by being hung up on and by how much he could like a voice, and still trying to convince himself that  _ you shouldn’t trust someone because their voice is nice _ . He sat the slim object on his bedside table and curled himself in bed, his eyebrows still furrowed. He should be disappointed, shouldn’t he? 

 

Either way, he fell asleep tasting a tinge of caramel. 


End file.
